


keep him safe if you can't keep him sane

by purnell (orphan_account)



Category: The Martian (2015), The Martian - All Media Types, The Martian - Andy Weir
Genre: IM format, Post-Mars, all the formats, email format, log format, regular prose format, social media format
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-02 17:29:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6575725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/purnell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>mark watney's back on board the hermes. he's having a hard time adjusting. </p><p>sort of a character study. use of muitple formats. focuses on all of the ares crew but mostly mark as he struggles to cope and move forward</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. log entry- mission day 694

Log Entry- Mission Day 694

It’s been a week since I didn’t die on Mars. I don’t know what else to say. I’m fucking exhausted and weak and I’m hungry as all hell but I can’t eat.

I should stop complaining. I’m not on Mars anymore. That’s good. But I ran on adrenaline for two years and now that I’m safe I’m so fucking exhausted and the one thing the crew won’t let me do is sleep.

I’ve got two broken ribs and apparently my body is seriously messed up. Living on Mars for two years does all kinds of things to the human body, none of which are good, and everyone at NASA’s got Beck testing me for every single possible thing the Mars atmosphere could've done to me. I don’t blame them. They’re covering their bases. But I just wanna sleep.

Okay. I’ll stop complaining. I will. I’m sorry for being whiny. I should focus on the good things. I’m safe! I will never have to step foot on Mars again!  I will never again be subjected to the horror that is disco music, nor will I ever again have to eat a cold potato!

Fuck. It’s been a week since I didn’t die on Mars and, wow, that’s a weird thought. I tried not to worry, but I think some part of me always thought I’d die there. I woke up every day and I thought to myself, you know, there’s a pretty good chance you’ll die today. Every moment of every hour of every day there were a million ways for something to fuck up and kill me right then and there. I feared for my life for two years and now I feel safe for the first time and it’s so surreal. Feeling safe.

I find myself calculating my every move. I got up to use the bathroom last night and I was afraid to open the door. I looked around for an EVA suit but of course there were none and I got panicky. Martinez woke up and he calmed me down. He opened the door to show me it was okay and I'm pretty sure I screamed a little. I thought the hab was going to depressurize. He didn't mention it today, which was nice of him. A couple days ago I was supposed to take a shower, but instead I sat down on the toilet and calculated how to minimize the amount of water I needed to bathe in order to have enough water left over, before I realized what I was doing.

I'm enjoying the Hermes, though. When I have time to myself I go and look out into space. I did that once a day when we first took off from Earth. I’d make myself coffee and then I’d go stand and look outside and think on how blessed I was to get to see something so beautiful. I look at it now and I see it just as I once did, beautiful, vast, and I still can't believe I can look outside and not see red.

Everyone’s trying to treat me like they used to. I can tell they’re making a conscious effort. I still see them watching me, studying me when they don’t think I’m looking. Martinez seems the most at ease, which is weird, considering we share a room and he knows about my nightmares. Still, when I don’t feel like being coddled or eyed or pried apart and asked to talk about my feelings, I go to him.  He’s got the awkward sense of humor of a high-schooler and, while his humor is highly inferior to mine, he makes me laugh. He doesn’t ask me about Mars, and that’s really the best thing anyone could do for me right now. I’m so fucking sick of talking about Mars. Between NASA and the crew and my parents, I have talked about Mars more than anyone should ever talk about Mars. It’s red. It sucks. That’s all I have to say.

Lewis is having the most trouble adjusting, I think. I’ve changed, I guess, and she’s not used to it. Yesterday I tried to drill a hole in the wall to fix the heater. She got pissed, understandably. The thing is, I got used to fending for myself. When there was a problem on Mars, I fixed it. I pulled some crazy stunts but I got stuff done. I forget that here I have to ask permission before I do something reckless. But, other than that, she seems relieved. I think she still feels as though it was her fault.  I don’t know how to convince her it wasn’t.

Anyway. Yeah. I’m really hungry. Beck set me up on a meal plan, because apparently I’m alarmingly malnourished, and if my calorie intake gets too high I’ll go into shock and die. Or something. But I’m barely getting any sustenance, and while that kept me going on Mars it’s harder now that I know I could be eating more. The crew tries not to eat around me, but still, I see their dirty plates and I see the meal containers. I just want to eat a normal meal like a normal person and I really want my legs to stop shaking. When Beck and Lewis aren’t around, sometimes Vogel or Martinez or Johanssen will pass me a small bite of something. I really love those guys, but I don’t think I’m painting an accurate enough picture when I say “small” bite. I’m talking microscopic.

Oh, I almost forgot. Beck’s making me update the log. That’s why I’m awake, updating the log, instead of sleeping. Which I’d rather be doing. But hey, I guess I get where he’s coming from. These logs got me through two long, lonely years, and they’ve become a sort of coping mechanism. Also, as the only one of us on board with any knowledge on psychology, he’s in charge of my psych evaluations. Given he’s the psychiatrist, he has access to my logs. So I’m sure he’s doing this so he can skim through these later rather than ask me any questions. God knows I’m a difficult patient. I don’t blame him. If I’m right, hi future Beck! Please let me eat more food. Also let me sleep. Sincerely, Watney.

That’s all, I guess. I think I’m gonna go sleep for a decade or two.


	2. martinez and watney have a talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> martinez wakes watney from a bad dream. they talk. 
> 
> prose format

Martinez sits on the floor, on his knees. He's whispering, frantic, trying to wake Watney without waking the rest of the crew. Watney's not waking, though, he's tossing and turning and crying and every few seconds he says something. Something loud but indiscernible.  
  
"Watney! For fuck's sake, wake up!" Martinez looks around. He scours the shelves and there he finds a water bottle, half-empty. He grips it, hands fumbling and wet with sweat, and he stumbles back to the bed where he falls back to his knees and pours the water down Watney’s front.  
  
Watney wakes with a start, sitting upright so fast Martinez can practically hear the air as it’s displaced. He looks towards Martinez and he's shaking, eyes wide with fear. His hair sweat-soaked, his mouth curved downwards, a frown; Martinez still finds it hard, sometimes, when Watney wears that frown, because the Watney he knew years ago always seemed to be smiling. Martinez sits back on his haunches and takes a breath, wipes sweat from his brow. For a moment, the only sound comes from the both of them breathing hard. Martinez grimaces and says, quiet, "You okay?"  
  
Watney nods. Martinez looks him over and notes the open laptop on his other side, as he draws his knees to his chest and buries his face in the blanket. "I'm good," he says, his voice muffled.  
  
"Hey, I hope you don't mind me asking, but what was it tonight?"

Mark doesn't look up. He lifts a finger and begins tracing shapes on his knee and he's  
still shaking, still breathing hard and fast.  
  
"Watney?"

"I'm okay, Martinez. I'm..." he trails off and his hand stills. Martinez is sure he's fallen  
asleep so he stands, but as soon as he does Watney's head turns and their eyes meet. "Fine. I'm fine."  
  
Martinez nods. He has several options, as he sees it. He can pry, and report back to Beck. He can go back to sleep, which sounds promising. Or, finally, he can sit and talk with Watney and make him feel normal, for once. He imagines Mark would like the third option best.  
  
But duty calls. Beck wants to help Watney, but Watney's a stubborn son of a bitch, so Lewis and Beck have asked Martinez to step up and do what he can, since they share a room and everything. He sits at the end of Watney's bed and looks over at him. His laptop's battery light flashes consistently, at five second intervals, lighting up his whole left side in pale white.  
  
"Why's your laptop open?"  
  
"Hmm?" Watney says. He's alarmingly small, frail, bones protruding so far it looks as though his skin may tear from strain. It doesn't help that he's curled up, almost as if to make himself seem even smaller.  
  
"Your laptop. It's open."  
  
"Right. Um. I was looking up clever ways to kill my nosy crewmates.”  
  
Martinez bites down on his lips to keep from smiling. He's missed Watney's jokes. Really missed them. "Watney," he says, attempting a tone of agitation.  
  
Mark smirks and throws his arms wide. "I'm serious! I found some pretty good ones, too. Who should I kill first, do you think?"  
  
Martinez glares at him.  
  
“Alright, you’ll go first then. Killjoy.”  
  
It’s taking all of Martinez’s willpower not to smile. He continues to stare him down, trying to conceal his amusement.  
  
"Fine. I was updating the log. You're no fun," he says, looking down at his hands. He’s still smiling, and Martinez can’t help but smile too because that’s his best friend. Martinez thought he was dead and he didn’t see him go but he watched as his bio stats dropped and he knew it was hopeless, what Lewis was doing, and he wanted to cry but he had a job to do. He spoke at his funeral from the ship and he cried like a baby. He mourned for him and cried for him and when the time came he prayed for him. He held out hope, sure, but hope only gets you so far. Some part of him always thought he’d seen Mark for the last time. But now, there he is, his best friend, alive and sitting two feet in front of him, and he’s smiling. He’s smiling and Martinez can’t help but smile too because he never thought he’d see that smile again.  
  
"You're still updating the log?"  
  
"Yeah. Doctor's orders."  
  
Martinez wrings his hands nervously, adjusts his position. He hates himself for what he’s about to say. He knows it’ll piss Mark off, but he knows he has to say it anyway, or Lewis and Beck’ll be on his case. "So... okay, I hate to pry-"  
  
"Then don't." Watney's smile fades and he continues to look at his hands but Martinez can see his body tense.  
  
Martinez falters. He's not used to Watney talking so abrasively. Martinez swallows and tries to remind himself that Mark has every right to be abrasive, after what he's been through. "Mark, listen. This is the fifth time this week I've had to wake you up because you were screaming in your sleep. We're just- _I'm_ just worried. It might help to, you know, talk about it."  
  
"Christ, Rick!" Watney looks up from his hands and his eyes are hard. He doesn't look angry, though, just frustrated, and Martinez knows how Watney hates to feel vulnerable and he can see the fear of it in his eyes. His gaze is piercing and Martinez hates himself for making Watney feel so vulnerable, so awful.  
  
"Fine, I'll leave you alone."  
  
Watney's eyes soften, slightly, and as Martinez turns his back to him he hears Watney murmur, "No, wait! Please don't leave."  
  
Martinez turns. Watney's crying, a little, and he wipes at his eyes and sits up and says, "I like having company."  
  
“Okay,” Martinez breathes. “I’ll stay.”  
  
Watney looks relieved and Martinez laughs, gently. “You must’ve been really fucking lonely down there.”  
  
Watney laughs, too. He sniffles and nods and he's smiling. “I was. I was really fucking lonely down there.”  
  
Martinez smiles. He knows they’re laughing about it but, God, he hates to think about how awful that must’ve been. He can’t imagine something so horrible, can’t imagine living knowing you’re farther from other people than anyone else has ever been.  
  
Watney takes a deep, shaky breath, then says, “I’m sorry, Rick, okay? I know I’m being difficult. I’m not… I’m not exactly used to taking orders, you know? I was alone for two years. I’m used to taking care of myself. I’m not trying to be annoying, or stubborn, or pissy, I’m just… exhausted. I’m exhausted and uncomfortable and, God, I’d love to eat an actual fucking meal. I don’t like being pitied and I don’t like talking about Mars, or my feelings. But I’m fine. I can handle this on my own. Tell Beck that, when he checks in with you.”  
  
“What makes you think he-“  
  
“C'mon, Martinez. You wouldn’t be asking me about my dreams if he hadn’t asked you to.”  
  
“Maybe I like talking about dreams, Watney.”  
  
“Martinez, I’ve known you for eight years. Don’t play dumb.”  
  
“Alright.” 

  
“Fuck, Martinez. Don’t start sulking! I’m not mad at you or Beck, or anyone, really. You’re just doing your jobs. But I can handle this without NASA’s help or Beck’s help or your help. I’m a big boy.”  
  
“Mark… two days ago you wouldn’t leave the room because you were afraid you’d suffocate and die. Three days ago you tried to drill a hole in the wall. Yesterday the microwave started beeping and you broke it to pieces. And… Vogel told me about Tuesday morning. He said he found you in the kitchen crying, and he said you got so scared you punched him. Said you were going on about something and he couldn’t get you calm for a half hour or so. You're not alone anymore, Mark. You don't have to deal with it by yourself, and I know you want to, but it… it sounds like a lot, for you to handle on your own.”  
  
Watney doesn’t say anything. His hands clench and he closes gus eyes and breathes in and out, slow. After a minute or so he leans back and soon enough his breathing is steady and he’s asleep. Martinez cleans up the water that spilled from Watney to the floor then climbs to his bunk. He reads, for a while. When his eyelids grow heavy he shuts his book and rolls to his side and drifts off. He dreams of being alone on Mars, and in his dream he's overcome with a loneliness unlike any he's ever felt. He misses his family, he misses the crew, he misses Earth and it's grasses and it's big beautiful moon. He's surviving in his dream but he feels hopeless and sometimes he goes and takes out a vial of morphine and considers taking a lethal dose. What difference would it make? They think he's dead anyway. Communication up and running and he still feels hopeless, because Earth is too far away and there's the issue of supplies and then there's the issue of rescue. He's eating less and less and things keep breaking and he's never felt so numb. 

In the morning, Martinez feels awful. He knows, now, that Watney can handle this himself. Living like that, for two years. He's strong, and Martinez doesn't doubt his ability to care for himself and move past this. But Martinez also knows that he's not alone, anymore. He doesn't have to deal with it himself.  

Martinez climbs down and makes his way to the kitchen. He pours himself some coffee. With all that talking last night, he really didn't get much sleep. It's gonna be a long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was an... interesting chapter to write. i enjoyed writing it but it definitely isn't my best work! i needed to get it down though so that i could continue with the rest of the story. 
> 
> not ever chapter will be structured similarly, nor will they be quite as emotional as this one. the next chapter will be a funny, light-hearted chapter. there will be more log entries which i'm looking forward to writing! anyway, hope you enjoyed! sorry about the writing!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please feel free to leave any comments below!


End file.
